


Too Hot, Hot Damn

by sapphirescribe



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Best Friends, Clint is a mess, Comfort, Feet, Gen, Ice, Natasha Is a Good Bro, heat wave
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-12
Updated: 2015-09-12
Packaged: 2018-04-20 11:41:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4786073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphirescribe/pseuds/sapphirescribe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint was sprawled on the floor, directly under the ceiling fan. It wasn’t particularly comfortable with his face smashed into the wood floor, but it was cooler than the sofa, which just seemed to absorb his body heat and push it back at him in a never-ending cycle of hot misery.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Too Hot, Hot Damn

**Author's Note:**

> This is in response to a post on the Avengers kink meme asking for Gen or Clint/Anyone, hot weather, ice cubes on skin. It ended up being Clint & Natasha, because I love them. This is more Fraction!Clint than MCU!Clint.
> 
> Also, I apologize for the title.

His air conditioner broke sometime during his last mission, so naturally there was a heat wave blanketing the east coast upon his return. He’d tried tinkering with the unit himself, but since kicking it didn’t actually fix the problem he was stuck until one of the overworked HVAC companies in the area could get to him.

Thank god for ceiling fans and working ice makers.

Lucky was flopped on the floor under the open window, belly up, looking more pathetic than Clint had seen him, which was really saying something.

Of course, Clint probably wasn’t one to talk, as he was sprawled on the floor as well, directly under the ceiling fan. It wasn’t particularly comfortable with his face smashed into the wood floor, but it was cooler than the sofa, which just seemed to absorb his body heat and push it back at him in a never-ending cycle of hot misery.

A knock at the door broke through his heat-addled brain. Lucky huffed. Clint made an indistinct “urg” sound at the knocker. He couldn’t remember if the door was unlocked or not, but he didn’t much care. Half the people he knew would pick the lock before waiting for him to answer anyway. And nefarious types would just bust in. _Oooh, maybe it’s kidnappers,_ he thought. Kidnappers usually had air conditioning. He hadn’t been kidnapped in a while.

The briefest of cross-breezes washed over him as whoever was at the door let themselves in. Clint barely had the energy to pick up a hand and wave over his shoulder.

“Idiot,” came Natasha’s affectionate reply.

“It’s too hot for insults,” Clint mumbled into the floor.

He let the sounds of Natasha making herself at home in his kitchen lull him back into his earlier semi-meditative state. God, how could people function in this heat and humidity? He was never moving again. The HVAC people were just going to have to work around him, if they ever showed up.

He heard Natasha hang up the phone, though he had no idea who she’d been talking to, and then felt her settle on the floor next to him. A cold hand in the middle of his back made him start, but then, “Jesus, that feels good.”

She moved her icy hand up to the back of his neck for a few seconds and it was the best thing he’d ever felt.

Once her hand had reached merely cool temperatures she pulled away, and Clint heard the tinkling of ice in glass. Slowly, Natasha placed about a dozen ice cubes on various spots on Clint’s back and the backs of his legs. His neck and lower back were first, then the backs of his knees, a few straight down his spine.

Soon enough the ice began to melt, letting slow rivulets of cool water trail over his hot skin, and it was better than an air conditioner, closer and more immediate. Natasha dipped her hand into the bowl again and let more cold water drip from her hand onto his scalp, his biceps, down his forearms. She reached in again and started with his feet this time, trailing icy cold water over his sensitive arches, making him hiss and tense, before the sting left and he was just left with blessedly cool feet.

She kept it up for what felt like hours. Clint had never been so thankful to have her in his life, even counting the number of times she’d saved it. (To be honest, this could have been one of those times. Clint was fairly certain he’d have died of heat stroke without her there.)

Another knock on the door broke Natasha from her delightful ice water bath. Clint realized he’d cooled significantly, felt much less close to wishing for death, and really had to pee. When he forced himself up, he realized Nat had stuck a bowl of ice in front of the fan by the window, forcing cool air into the room. God, that woman was brilliant.

Natasha was cozy on the couch in shorts and one of his old tshirts when he got back. The coffee table was pulled close and boxes of wonderful-smelling food covered it.

“Mediterranean food, nothing hot,” she said, when he joined her on the couch, laying on his side with his head in her lap.

He reached a lazy arm out but came up a couple inches short of the veggies and hummus. His rather pathetic grabby hand was rewarded with a healthy serving of hummus on a red pepper being fed to him.

“You only get one. You must learn to feed yourself, baby bird.”

He grumbled at her but chewed and didn’t try to coerce her into feeding him more.

“How can you manage in this heat?” he asked her much later, after a few episodes of some nature show she enjoyed, and once all the food had been demolished.

“I have been very cold. Being hot is not so bad.”

Clint supposed that made sense.

“Now that you have been pampered and fed, come back with me to the Tower. Tony would never let something so mundane as a broken air conditioner happen on his watch.”

Clint froze, and then laughed at himself, because sweet Jesus he was an idiot. In all the drama of coming back from the mission and finding his place hotter than the devil’s butthole, he hadn’t even realized he had somewhere else to go.

Natasha rolled her eyes at him.

“Think Tony will let me bring Lucky?”

“No, but if you introduce him to Steve first, Tony won’t be allowed an opinion.”

“Sweet, I love it when Tony doesn’t get an opinion.”

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/sapphirescribe) or [tumblr](http://eamestrousers.tumblr.com/), where I regularly lose my mind about Steve Rogers.


End file.
